


Music Mogul Moonbyul Tries Again

by SpaceShaolin



Series: The "reality" in BLACK AU Trilogy [3]
Category: Mamamoo
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:28:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22312510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceShaolin/pseuds/SpaceShaolin
Summary: A bankrupt CEO, a ruined President, and a newly-unemployed indie singer walk into a bar…
Series: The "reality" in BLACK AU Trilogy [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1586833
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	Music Mogul Moonbyul Tries Again

Moonbyul would admit that she had a problem. She’d even be the first to do it, if it came down to that. Running to the bottle first thing during a crisis was not, as her former subordinates used to say, a good indicator of health. It was an assertion she thought was funny, especially since none of them ever thought to speak of her health when they were all drinking with her and making her pay for everything.

But she had to acknowledge there was a problem. And that was always the first step, wasn’t it, to acknowledge? Acknowledging was something Moonbyul did a lot of and it was something she’d gotten particularly good at. When her new idol boy band didn’t show any sign of improvement at training camp, she acknowledged that. When she was told she couldn’t possibly hope to earn anything substantial back with the minor hits her company produced, she acknowledged that. And when her entertainment label went bankrupt, forcing her to take to the streets in this messed-up state, she sure as hell acknowledged that too. Acknowledging was all she ever did these days. It was damn well a special talent of hers at this point, acknowledging.

But ask her to actually do anything about all the things she had to acknowledge these last few months, and Moonbyul would only agree with you. And then, she would punch you in the face. And then, she would go right back to acknowledging things, this time with a bottle of alcohol close by.

Moonbyul loved alcohol and she was pretty sure the stuff loved her back. Alcohol was always there for her on good days. It never left her alone on her bad days. It was the only thing that stuck around whenever she found herself in a rut and the only thing that would stay behind to greet her in the mornings.

But yeah, she had to admit, she had a problem.

“Problems, you think you’ve got problems,” a woman decked all in white mumbled, snorting a little into her glass.

Moonbyul ignored her and took another sip from her glass. Today had not been kind to her, the ex-CEO of the now-defunct Wolsong World entertainment label, and she was intent on making sure everyone was just as miserable as she was. From one of the most promising rookie idol agencies in the business, to the bankrupt calamity she’d just now left it in. Some CEO she turned out to be.

“Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair,” she said, chuckling into her glass before finishing off her drink.

The white lady chuckled beside her. “Oh, that was good,” she said. “Very cool. I like it. I like it like this drink I’m having. What are you drinking? Can I order one of those too? Do you think I’d like it?”

“Uh… sure?” As Moonbyul had only been prepared to drink her worries away tonight, her brain was still not yet equipped to handle even the most basic of social exchanges.

Fortunately, the white lady didn’t appear to be so drunk, because she went and picked up the slack for the both of them. “Too late, I’ve already placed my order,” she said with a cheeky grin. “One for me and one more for you. You look like you could use one more. Or five more. I don’t even know what number I’m on, I just know I need to drink more. Hello, I’m Hwasa.”

“Oh! Um.” A switch labeled _Social Manners and Basic Etiquette_ in Moonbyul’s brain flicked itself on just then. “Moonbyul.”

“Hello,” Hwasa said again, giggling when the bartender handed her the extra drinks. She took a long swig from her last glass before looking over at Moonbyul. “So,” she began. “What’re you in here for?”

Moonbyul continued to take multiple sips from her glass. She eyed Hwasa cautiously, still deciding if she was going to tell her everything or not.

“I’m here ‘cause I just lost my country,” Hwasa plowed on, either not knowing or caring that Moonbyul was still being cautious around her. “Lost it all, just like that.” She snapped her fingers for effect.

“You’re a chatty drunk, aren’t you?” Moonbyul said, before she could think to shut her mouth.

But the remark didn’t affect Hwasa a bit. “And you’re the sulking type. But that’s fine. Maybe we would have gotten along better in another world. Maybe I’m still chatty and you’re still sulking, but maybe we would have already known each other well enough to care.”

“That sounds nice,” Moonbyul agreed. “Any world where I have money’s already a better world than this one.”

“Oh yeah, and at least I’d still have my country.”

Moonbyul made an agreeing sort of sound before returning to her drink.

Hwasa stared at her as she returned to her own drink, a delicate eyebrow arching over the glass. “You haven’t asked me about my country,” was what she said as soon as she put her glass down. “Why aren’t you asking me about my country?”

“Because I’m assuming you won’t be asking me about my bankrupt company if I won’t ask you about you losing your country.”

The light returned to Hwasa’s eyes. “Oh, so you’ve lost something too! And it’s not a small, stupid thing, like your keys or your phone or your girlfriend or your boyfriend or whatever. It’s an honest-to-goodness big, stupid thing like mine. We’re in the same boat, you and me!”

“You seem way too happy about all this,” Moonbyul said. “But fine, I’ll bite. How’d you lose your country?”

* * *

“You declared war on the weather?”

“No, not the entire weather, just winter. I hate winter.”

“You launched an entire campaign on the weather and _lost?_ How were you supposed to wage war on the weather?”

“I _said_ I was only waging war on winter, not the weather. I actually really love summer, why would I wage war on that? Didn’t I tell you this already?”

“How were you supposed to win a war against the weather? I need to know this.”

“By singing songs full of warmth and joy. I really, really hate winter.”

“That sounds like a terrible waste of resources.”

“Says the bankrupt CEO.”

“Shove it, you useless President. I didn’t even vote for you!”

“You didn’t have to, it was a monarchy.”

“Monarchies don’t have Presidents!”

“What am I to you, a joke?”

“No, you’re a really pretty lady, that’s what you are.”

“And this is why you’re no longer CEO of whatever the fuck.”

“I said to shut up.”

“You first.”

“... You want to take another bottle with me?”

“Yeah, okay.”

* * *

There was a bright spot to the mess Moonbyul now called her life, and that bright spot was named Wheein. Wheein, the sweet, sweet indie singer she’d signed to her label not too long ago – at first, Moonbyul signed her because she was desperate for any talent to keep their name afloat, even if it was a talent that still sent demos by cassette tapes. But Wheein was the real deal and for the whole week she’d been signed to Wolsong World before it went under, she’d received nothing but praise from Moonbyul, who’d grown quite fond of her and her talent.

If only the label lasted long enough to actually give Wheein a mainstream career.

“She sounds nice,” Hwasa said.

“She’s the best,” Moonbyul agreed. “I don’t deserve her.”

“You really, really don’t.”

Moonbyul nearly fell off her chair. “Wheein!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

“What else? I’m here to drown my sorrows in alcohol like the rest of you sorry losers,” she replied, a harsh bite to her tone. She sat down at their table and raised her hand to order a drink, but she wasn’t able to get a word out before Hwasa shoved her own glass right into her face.

“Here, take mine,” Hwasa said. “You look nice too. I don’t know what Moonbyul was thinking, letting the company go under and leave you out in the cold.”

Wheein, excited at finding someone who cared, smiled and sipped her drink.

“Hey, I cared for you too,” Moonbyul whined.

“No you did not, you useless CEO,” Wheein retorted.

“Leaving you out in the cold like that, you see, this is why I hate winter,” Hwasa continued to mutter. She’d somehow managed to produce a third glass and another bottle out of nowhere and presented her findings to the rest of the group.

“Ah, what the hell,” Wheein said, shrugging her shoulders.

* * *

By the time they were halfway through their newest bottle, Hwasa was singing the song of her people.

“This is the song of my people,” she announced. And then, she sang it again, back from the top.

Most of the song was in Korean and some parts of it – the most important parts, if Moonbyul were to guess – were in English.

 _“I love you,”_ Hwasa slurred. “Something something _together forever, MooMoos…_ ”

It was such a beautiful mix of languages, regardless, and the beauty was something Moonbyul so admired, she found herself wishing she could learn to sing a little of this song as well. She briefly wondered if there was a chance Hwasa could have been a singer instead, so that she could get signed to Wolsong World and save it from eventual ruin. Moonbyul damn near burst into tears when she remembered Wolsong World no longer existed.

She glanced up in time to see Hwasa teach Wheein the song of her people, and this time, Moonbyul started full-on crying, consumed with jealousy over such a tiny thing. “I can’t believe this,” she said. “Wheein, my puppy, how could things turn out this way?”

* * *

They’d nearly drained their newest bottle when Moonbyul was finally roped in to join them in singing the song of Hwasa’s people.

“Another!” Hwasa called to the bartender, raising all five fingers in the air and meaning it.

Moonbyul and Wheein had their arms around each other’s shoulders and were now professing their undying love for each other.

“I love you, Wheein! I’m sorry, Wheein! I wish I could have given you the world, Wheein!”

“Shut up, Moonbyul! Stop talking like my mom!”

“Could I meet your mom?” Hwasa said. “She sounds wonderful!”

“I haven’t even told you guys about her!”

“But if you’re already this wonderful, then what does that say about the woman who birthed you?”

“I’d carry Wheein for nine months, no questions asked.”

“Moonbyul’s being gross again!”

Hwasa received their replenished supply of alcohol with glee and slammed all five new bottles on the table, to everyone’s excitement. “Let’s all be gross together!” she said.

* * *

Wheein took a long gulp and slammed her glass on the table. “So that’s it, huh?” she said. “We’re some kind of Loser Club?”

“A club!” Moonbyul said, sighing wistfully into her glass. “That takes me back. Times were so simple when I was part of a club. I wish I could go back.”

“I have never been part of a club that didn’t want me as leader,” Hwasa announced.

Wheein’s eyes shone with excitement. “Oh, that’s perfect, you can be our leader!”

“Now hang on,” Hwasa said. “I didn’t say I _wanted_ to be leader. I was just saying. You know, in general. To make conversation.”

“Well, this conversation is over and that settles it.” Moonbyul grinned, rubbing her hands together. “All hail Hwasa, leader of the Loser Club!”

“Did you even listen to anything I –” Hwasa started to say, before she got drowned out by Wheein’s excited whooping and yelling.

“My leader,” Moonbyul said, standing up to do an exaggerated curtsy, just to piss Hwasa off.

“Why do I feel like I’ve been demoted…?” Hwasa asked her glass and pouting when she found no answer there.

* * *

The trio was well and truly sloshed – and had been, for some time now – when an angelic vision entered the bar and stood right in front of Moonbyul.

“Oh, God,” Moonbyul slurred, looking up at the apparition. “Am I dead? Is this the angel you’ve sent to take me?”

And then, the vision turned to give her a disgusted look, and Moonbyul screamed.

Wheein chucked a chicken bone at Moonbyul to stop her wailing.

“It’s terrifying!” Moonbyul continued to scream, not caring about this show of disrespect.

“It’s Solar, you idiot!” the angelic vision said, her scowl becoming deeper when she’d seen just how much the three of them had been drinking. “This is terrible. You all stink. What would your mothers say?”

“Hopefully, her permission for me to marry Wheein,” Hwasa said, not skipping a beat. Beside her, Wheein giggled, clapping her hands in a mix of embarrassment, shock, and flattery.

Solar ignored this and crossed her arms, giving each of them a withering look. “This is terrible,” she said again. “You all reek of alcohol. I hope you’re all proud of yourselves.”

“Well, sure.” Moonbyul shrugged. “We all stink with regret too. But we’ll pick ourselves up back tomorrow again, you’ll see.”

“Yeah, from the gutter.” Solar sighed. She put her fingers to her temple and felt the beginnings of a headache starting to blossom there. “Look,” she said, directing her gaze to Moonbyul. It could have been just a trick of the light or a bad trick played by the alcohol, but Moonbyul thought there was some genuine pity flickering there in Solar’s eyes. “I know what happened. We both know it was kind of your fault it happened. But I don’t think that’s any excuse for you to start doing this to yourself.”

“I’ve always been doing this to myself, thanks very much.”

“And you!” Solar turned to Wheein. “I can’t believe you! I’ve only known you a week, but I didn’t think you’d drop to such levels!”

Wheein at least had the decency to look ashamed. She looked down into her glass. “You’ve only known me a week, though,” she muttered.

“And I don’t know who you are, but you’re obviously made for better things than this!”

“I just lost my own country because I declared war on winter,” Hwasa said, starting to get emotional again. “I don’t deserve shit!”

Solar, not knowing how factual Hwasa was being in that moment, did a double-take. She shook her head, chalking it up to drunken ramblings, and faced them all again. “You’re all better than this!” she asserted. “Crying and drinking never helped anyone, I can tell you that.”

“Oh, it’s helping me plenty,” Moonbyul said. Beside her, Hwasa was nodding her head in agreement and wiping some stray tears from her eyes.

“… Would you like a drink?” Wheein ventured, raising a glass.

* * *

Solar did, indeed, want a drink. And then, she wanted another one and another one and another one, until she’d gone red in the face after a grand total of four shots with the group.

“Is my face red?” Solar asked, frantically pointing to her face and pestering anyone who would listen. “I think my face is getting red. I knew this was a bad idea!” She gulped down her fifth shot of the evening and immediately put a finger up for one more.

“Behold, the song of my people,” Hwasa announced for the fifteenth time that evening. This time, Solar joined the rest of the table in standing up to sing along with the disgraced President.

“What a beautiful song!” Solar declared, making sure her voice rose above the din. Moonbyul and Wheein were each singing different verses of the song, while Hwasa was now singing in a language that sounded like mangled French. “We should totally start a band!”

“You already have a band!” Moonbyul said.

Solar thought about this. “Well, yes!” she conceded. “But it’s like a part-time thing! They only go with me for concerts and that’s it. We should start doing something more permanent!”

“Drinking is permanent!” Wheein cheered. “I could do this all night and tomorrow and forever!”

“Everyone, focus!” Solar said, getting up on the table now to clap her hands. “I love you and I want you all to know this, but we’re all starting to look a little pathetic.”

“Your face is pathetic!” Hwasa argued expertly.

“Your mom!” Moonbyul added helpfully.

“You!” Wheein concluded.

All three girls collapsed in a fit of drunken giggles. Solar looked nearly ready to join them down on the floor, but remembered in time that she wasn’t there to encourage their wanton alcoholism.

“We should start a band!” Solar said again.

This forced all three girls into silence.

Moonbyul looked at Wheein.

Wheein looked at Hwasa.

Hwasa looked up at the ceiling.

“No way,” they all said from the floor.

* * *

“I can’t believe we’re starting a band,” Hwasa said, spinning her microphone round and round.

Moonbyul stood beside her and gave her bass guitar a few experimental plucks. “I don’t even remember agreeing to this, but okay,” she said.

Wheein agreed by way of pounding out a soft beat from the drum set behind them.

Solar strutted in front of them, her guitar bouncing lightly on her chest with each giddy step she took. “We’ll be super great at this,” she told them. “You’ll see. You guys just need to get all your angst out in the open, that’s all. Singing and playing in a band should do the trick!”

“Why didn’t you ever persuade me to join your band when you still worked for me?”

“Because you were a greasy flirt who wouldn’t stop hitting on me, Moonbyul, now please focus.”

“I’d like to sing so loud, it’ll touch MooMoos’ hearts,” Hwasa said.

Wheein pounded another rhythmic beat on the drums in agreement. It was a sound so deceptively complicated, that it made Moonbyul turn around to face her. “You play drums?” she said, her eyes going wide.

“Um… yes?” Wheein said. She twirled a drumstick in her hand and gave her cymbals a series of light taps. “Didn’t I tell you about this at the interview?”

“No you didn’t.”

“Oh. Well, I play the drums. Sorry you had to find out now.”

“But you’re an indie singer! You’re supposed to be all airy and sentimental and stuff!”

Wheein stopped performing little acrobatic stunts with her drumsticks and gaped. “Did you…” she began. “Did you just typecast me?”

Moonbyul panicked. “No!” she said immediately. “I mean, that’s not what I meant!”

“You said I could be anything I wanted!”

“That was because I really wanted you to sign with us!”

“You said not to let the genres tie me down!” Wheein was standing up now and pointing an angry drumstick at her former boss.

“Well, yes!” Moonbyul said, lifting her bass guitar bit by bit, until she was almost certain it was covering her face. “Can’t I just be amazed that you’re an indie singer that plays the drums?”

“You’re doing it again!”

Solar, fed up with the argument, walked up to Moonbyul, shoved the bass guitar down, and smacked the side of her head. “Stop that,” she told her. “You told me before I couldn’t do rap because that would ruin my image. What image, you prejudiced ass? Just because I like doing my make-up like this, doesn’t mean I can only do stadium rock! I can so branch out into other genres if I wanted, like, I bet I could kill the ballads if you gave me a chance!”

“Yeah, you tell her!” Wheein cheered from her drum set.

“I’d outlaw your prejudiced face, if I still had a country,” Hwasa said into her microphone, still feeling a little tipsy.

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry I typecasted Wheein!”

“See, this is why your stupid company went under,” Wheein blurted out, still caught up in the heat of the moment.

Silence fell upon the band.

“Okay, that was a bit…” Solar winced.

“No! She’s right,” Moonbyul said, waving off Wheein’s aghast look with a wave of her hand. “I was irresponsible and ambitious. I wasted all my company’s resources on things that didn’t work, so now I’m drunk and in a band. This is my penance for being such a fuck-up.”

Solar made a face, not really liking how Moonbyul had subtly dissed her band idea. “It’s not so bad,” she said.

“It’s not!” Wheein agreed. “Being drunk’s fun.”

Moonbyul was now strumming an emotional riff on her bass guitar. “I’m sad and I want the world to know this,” she said. “My music will be emotional and reflective of the human experience. It will move people to tears and touch their hearts so well, they will know the depths of my pain, even if they’re hearing me sing about it from the radio.”

Hwasa sniffed, not minding if the sound was picked up by her microphone and broadcasted on the speakers. “You have such a way with words,” she gushed. “If only we’d known each other earlier. I would have made you my speech writer. And you,” she said, turning to Wheein. “I would have made you my wife. Solar could do whatever the hell she wanted. I don’t care. I only met you people tonight, but I would wage a war on summer for all of you.”

Wheein gasped, feeling immensely touched by the gravity of this declaration.

Solar, on the other hand, didn’t completely understand this, but she was flattered all the same. “Um… thanks?” she said. “That’s um… that’s very noble of you, I guess.”

“Summer is everything to Hwasa,” Moonbyul told her. “She loves summer the same way I love the cold season. I was made to thrive in the cold, with my stone heart and fragile emotions.”

“You traitor,” Hwasa accused, but moved towards her to envelop her in a hug anyway.

“I want a hug too!” Wheein cried, leaping over her drum set to join the hug.

“I wish we’d all been a band, just the four of us!” Solar said, getting caught up in the moment too. She moved towards the trio, her arms stretched out wide. “Even if Moonbyul will always be sadder than I’ll ever be, even if Wheein’s style of music was so different from mine, and even if Hwasa’s so weird! I love all of you!”

“Sometimes, I regret signing you at all.”

“Ew, is she still drunk?”

“Your face is weird!”

But all four of them hugged each other anyway.

Hwasa, overcome with emotion, broke away from the group first and grabbed her microphone. “The song of my people!” she screamed into the mic. “MooMoos, I love you! Make some noise!”

She stretched her arms wide to take in the scattered whoops from her three new friends.

“I don’t even know who these MooMoos are, but if Hwasa loves them, then I love them too!” Solar said, waving her guitar about. “I’d smash this guitar to show my love for them, but this isn’t mine and I still have shit to pay for.”

“ _You’ve_ got shit to pay for?” Moonbyul said, sneering. “You think you’ve got shit to pay for. Ha!”

“Yeah!” Wheein agreed. She pointed a drumstick at Moonbyul. “You’ve still got shit to pay me!”

“For just one week! I only employed you for a week!”

“That was one week of my _life!_ " Wheein stomped her foot on the bass drum in a stunning act of finality.

“MooMoos, I love you…” Hwasa crooned from her spot on the stage. Beside her, Solar was strumming a mournful dirge on her guitar.

“… Can I hug you again?”

“One week of my life!”

“Why is nobody else singing the song of my people?” Hwasa demanded, still relaying all her lines into her microphone.

“We look like a bunch of office co-workers that just got together to drink and go busking.”

Solar flipped her hair and grinned. “At least we can all agree I’m the best-looking one. If we were an actual group, I’d be the visual.”

“ _One week of my_ – what are you talking about? _I’d_ be visual of this team, you useless rock star.”

“She’s not kidding,” Hwasa said. “She’s got some really cute dimples.”

Hwasa turned to Moonbyul, hoping to find some sort of support for Wheein’s undeniable cuteness. She found none. Moonbyul was full-on staring at Solar with a lovesick sort of look in her eyes.

“Stop staring at me,” Solar said, clearly very pleased with the attention. “You’re going to make me think my face is turning red.”

“She’s saying it again!” Wheein whined from her drum set. _“Is my face red? Is my face red?”_ she continued to mimic Solar as obnoxiously as she could, fanning her hands under her face for added effect.

“It’s a very cute shade of red,” Moonbyul assured her. She resumed her strumming and made her impromptu tune a little more upbeat than before. “I’d write you a song about peaches and spring days and all those nice things, but I’m not feeling it yet. Let me write you a song about your cheeks instead.”

Solar put her hands to her cheeks self-consciously. “What’s wrong with my cheeks?” she demanded.

“Oh, nothing. I just feel like poking them until the sun rises tomorrow, that’s all.”

“I want to put my fingers into Wheein’s dimples for days.”

“Stop being gross, Hwasa.”

“You can’t speak to a President that way. Even if you are very cute.”

“An ousted President, more like.” Wheein scoffed. “We’re the Loser Club, aren’t we? Act more like it, you losers!”

“I’m no loser!” Solar gasped, affronted that they would even think to include her in such a thing.

“Oh, that’s fine, you’re not a part of the club,” Wheein said.

Solar gasped again, feeling offended now that they didn’t even think to include her in such a thing. “Well, why not?”

“I’m a loser, I’m a loser,” Moonbyul sang.

“Who’s up for another round of the song of my people!” Hwasa cried and pumped a fist in the air, the peacemaking diplomat in her now jumping out. “Come, let me write a song for you people. I’m great at writing songs,” she continued to say into her microphone, but was now making a move towards Wheein at the back. “I can write you so many love songs,” she crooned.

Wheein burst out in laughter and shoved Hwasa off her lap in a bout of embarrassed glee.

The rest of the band only started to panic when Hwasa didn’t get up again immediately afterwards.

* * *

“You know what I call this?” Hwasa slurred, her arms slung on Solar and Moonbyul, trudging along with everyone else to the train station.

“The walk of shame?” Solar suggested.

“Destiny,” Hwasa said, ignoring her. “It can only be fate that we were able to meet like this. It’s like we were meant to see each other or something.”

“Too bad,” Wheein said. She’d meant to make a joke, but she was still noticeably downcast after unintentionally giving Hwasa a near-concussion.

Hwasa yanked her hand off Moonbyul’s shoulder and moved to sling it over Wheein instead. “I still think you’re cute,” she assured her. “You could run me over with your car and I’d say thank you.”

“Well, that band idea didn’t go anywhere,” Moonbyul said, secretly relieved that she no longer had to carry Hwasa. It had been difficult walking at bended height just to match Solar.

“Were you planning to make money out of it again?” Solar scoffed. “Right after your last one went nowhere?”

“You take that back, my last one was Wheein.”

“And I’m perfectly fine finding success on my own, thank you.”

“I’m never drinking with any of you ever again.”

“Okay, Solar.”

“You’re all a threat to society and I regret meeting all of you.”

“Whatever you say, Solar.”

“At least try to tell me I’m wrong or something! Didn’t last night mean a thing to any of you?”

Wheein paused to evaluate the state of her hangover and decided she could still be feeling worse. “Eh,” she said, shrugging. “It was okay.”

“I had fun,” Moonbyul said. “I’m thinking of going back to music. But as a proper musician again this time, not a CEO. At least, not yet. Work myself from the bottom and all that.”

“And what will you do?” Solar nudged Hwasa.

“I think I’ll work my way up to being President again,” she answered.

“And how do you plan to do that?”

“Find work in public service or something, I don’t know. Or I could just go into showbiz. Maybe Moonbyul’s idea isn’t so bad after all.”

“At least Solar won’t be hard up for work after this,” Wheein said. “She’s got it made, being a bonafide rock star and all.”

“Oh, not anymore,” Solar said. “I announced I was going to change my image and nobody wanted that, so I left my agency. It’s back to busking for me. I think I’d like to try some ballads.”

“Let me write them for you,” Moonbyul offered.

“Uh, I think the fuck not.”

“You’re cold.”

“Why isn’t anyone asking me what I’m going to do after this?” Wheein said, visibly annoyed at being left out.

Hwasa slurred something that sounded like a question, and even if it was completely unintelligible gibberish, Wheein chose to answer her anyway.

“I’m going to be an indie singer,” she said. “I’m going to keep singing until I die.”

“That’s the spirit!” Moonbyul cheered.

“Please don’t die,” Solar said, missing the point entirely.

“Song of my people!” Hwasa said again.

The rest of the group exchanged looks, held a secret conversation among themselves, and shrugged.

“I think that’s enough now,” Moonbyul started to say, but was immediately cut off by Wheein and Solar’s excited yelling.

“For MooMoos!” they said.

“And a-one, two, three!” Hwasa said, suddenly losing her slurs.

And all four women sang on, walking into the morning sunrise with this song filling the streets, and effectively pissing off anyone within hearing distance. But if destined they were to meet each other like this, then destined they will be to continue singing this song until their lungs gave out and they got their lives back together again.

At least, that was what Moonbyul hoped for, even if there was an undeniable spark of hope beginning to spark to life in her chest. It felt warm, she acknowledged to herself, almost exactly how she’d imagined a new beginning to feel like. After drowning in her losses hours before, she thought it was finally nice to have gained something again.

Even if that something was three wailing women trying to out-sing each other on the street.

* * *

_“This song is from my story, one day, in this place_  
_I hope I’m here, I hope you’re there  
_ _Right now, go your own way”_

_\- Mamamoo ("Destiny")_


End file.
